“And where is she today?” Lilly asked.

  “She got fined. That was all. Daughter too,” Vivian said.

  “I hope for a million dollars,” Mr. Sand joked.

  “Who knows,” Vivian said. Lilly placed her hand on Vivian’s.

  * * *

  Back to the subject at hand, that was filled with questions like these that continued to circle Vivian’s mind. How could Lilly leave? Didn’t she enjoy her time with Vivian at Sunderland’s lunch counter, where they would reminisce and gossip before their shifts began, drinking their coffee and devouring Sunderland’s famous cookies?

  “There is no reason why I must work. He’s a periodontist and does very well,” Lilly said.

  “Oh. My. God. Eleanor Roosevelt would slap you.”

  “Let her.”

  “Don’t go, Lil.”

  “I want to.”

  Lilly now had a choice. She no longer had the stress of putting food on the table and paying house bills. She could work at Sunderland’s because she wanted to and because she was good at her job.

  But she chose to leave. She loved her career; being a shoe buyer was not only fun but empowering. It reminded her of her school days where she would put in the hard work and receive an award for it—that beautiful letter A written in red. It was her stamp of approval that told her she was smart, worthwhile, and accountable.

  And so, Lilly took that wisdom with her to Sunderland’s. Every step that was taken before she bought a line was carefully thought out through research and by listening to her gut. She knew her customers; she knew which shoes would sell the moment she saw them. And most of the time, she was right. But, sometimes, she was wrong, and she was able to own that mistake.

  Not like someone else she knew.

  “This line of skincare should be flying off the shelves. Customers just don’t get it yet,” Vivian said one afternoon.

  “Look, you made a mistake,” Lilly pointed out. “It’s okay. Move on and learn from it and stop buying that line.”

  “I did not make a mistake. I never make mistakes,” Vivian had replied in a huff before she turned on her heel and walked away.

  These moments were becoming more frequent and traveled into their personal lives. The time they spent together made Lilly clench her teeth. The criticism from Vivian was not constructive; it was hurtful, didn’t make sense, and bothered Lilly, and she didn’t know how to put a stop to it, although she tried. It was if Vivian was trying to erase what happened that afternoon by telling Lilly that she knew what was best.

  “Viv, I will wear my pants this way,” Lilly defended one afternoon in front of the ladies’ room mirror.

  “But that’s so last year.”

  “But what does it matter? Pants don’t expire like milk.”

  It wasn’t just the fashion criticism. Lilly knew that Mr. Sand was right. Lilly really wanted to get that can opener to let those worms free, but Vivian was hiding the can opener. Even the manual one.

  “Viv, we need to talk about it.”

  “Talk about what? Everything’s fine.” But they weren’t fine, as both were carrying around feelings the size of boulders.

  “Did you see the latest issue of Vogue? They are carrying the shoes you just bought for the store!” Vivian said, trying to add more sugar to the fruit that turned sour. Lilly shook her head, forbidding herself to the continued chatter that didn’t go anywhere. After almost ten years of working at Sunderland’s, it was time for a change. It was time for Lilly to leave.

  “But why?” Vivian asked.

  “I already told you why.”

  “But I’m here,” Vivian protested.

  “I’m not moving out of Montreal. We can still see each other,” Lilly said, hoping that maybe with time, Vivian would be more transparent. Maybe they could talk about it.

  Vivian’s face fell as she knew in her heart that this wouldn’t happen. How could it when she was hiding behind her veil of lipstick?

  1982

  Almost thirty years had passed since Lilly left Sunderland’s, and there wasn’t a time where she didn’t miss that part of her life. What she accomplished in the ten years she worked there amazed her. Lilly knew she was smart, and she knew she had chutzpah, but her divorce lingered like a dark cloud, which followed her around everywhere she went. Working at Sunderland’s allowed some light to shine through as it re-opened the door to her strengths, encouraging her to walk into challenges and face them head on.

  But damn that Vivian. Even after all these years. Lilly hated leaving “it” alone—letting it lie, just like Mr. Sand suggested. She was still itching to get to the bottom of it, but didn’t know how, or did she even want to try?

  In the mid-1950s, on Lilly’s wedding day, when the band was wrapping up their electrical cords and the waiters were sweeping the floors, the three of them, Mr. Sand, Vivian and Lilly stood in a corner of the dance floor, holding hands, promising each other that they would have dinner once a week together—forever. And thankfully, this promise was kept, while Lilly became a housewife and Vivian and Mr. Sand continued to work at Sunderland’s.

  One evening, during their weekly dinner dates, Mr. Sand didn’t look well. He had a horrible cough and a stuffed-up nose.

  “This cold won’t go away!” Mr. Sand said as he sipped his martini. But if you would ask what was really bothering him, it wasn’t his cold, but the tension between the two ladies, as it was as thick as the two-inch steak that he just ordered.

  “That’s it, you’re taking the day off tomorrow and I’m bringing you my matza ball soup.”

  Lilly said as she sipped her white wine. Vivian nodded her head.

  “Meh,” Mr. Sand said.

  “What you need is plenty of liquids and rest,” Vivian said.

  “Oh, you girls. Always taking care of me,” Mr. Sand said as he blew his nose.

  “When you’re busy taking care of customers and doing your job, so many things pass you by,” Vivian said.

  “Most things, but not all,” Mr. Sand said.

  Lilly looked up for more. “What do you mean?”

  “Things aren’t always what they appear to be,” Mr. Sand said softly as Vivian glared at him, while she absorbed the cards that she was dealt with. Nobody except her parents and Marsha knew of the abuse that she went through when she was a little girl. She vowed that nobody had to hear about that dreadful part of her life and told herself to forget them and move on and be nothing but perfect. But of course, she spoiled that image after she was rejected by her business proposal and then get scammed by two anti-Semitic thieves.

  Why burden anyone with those sad and dreadful experiences? What was the point?

  But there was a point, as she could have solved all of what was between Lilly and her over one simple conversation. No matter how close two people may seem, no matter what they have in common, or how many laughs they share, something between them still could be missing.

  To have that conversation, they would have to create a safe space to listen, to not judge and be kind. So simple yet so difficult because before each of them could let their guard down, a mutual understanding of trust and empathy had to have been present, which was not apparent.

  “You have taken care of us. We both wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” Vivian said to Mr. Sand while smiling at Lilly, who returned the smile and a voice that screamed to Vivian, Let me in!

  Visiting Hours

  Lilly sat by Mr. Sand’s hospital bed and held his hand. She was visiting him every Tuesday afternoon for the past month, when living at home was no longer feasible. She knew Vivian wouldn’t be there, as Tuesdays was her standing manicure appointment. It was as obvious as a nail polish chip that Lilly was avoiding her.

  “Why can’t you see her point of view?” Mr. Sand asked Lilly.

  “Point of view? Mr. Sand, do you know how she treated me? After I saved the day?”

  “Whoa whoa whoa there.”

  “She made me feel worthless.”

  Mr. Sand gave her a disapproving look. “Let’s take a moment and look at the whole story—I mean the whole thing—from beginning to end.”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Ok. Here we have Vivian Steiner. Sales associate extraordinaire who put her heart and soul into her job. Created a product that didn’t make it off the ground. And, to top it all off, she got scammed by two anti-Semitic thieves.”

  “Right.”

  “Then we have you—Lilly Krovchick, a divorcé. When no one got divorced—I have to add, because my dear, that took guts like nobody’s business.”

  “Thank you,” Lilly said as pushed her hair off her shoulders.

  “Mother of three. Worked her way up in the shoe department and got married and left Sunderland’s.”

  “Exactly. So, what did I do? Why am I being punished? I didn’t take her dreams away. In fact, I tried to help her.”

  “I want you to look closer at Vivian’s story. Is that all? Why do you think she couldn’t accept your help?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Neither do I. But we must find out why.”

  “There’s that can of worms again! Why can’t you just tell me?”

  “I don’t know myself, my dearie!”

  “Oh, come on!” Lilly screamed as Mr. Sand shook his face, as it fell.

  “Why can certain people cope and not others? Why couldn’t she accept your help. I also want you to think about all the good that took place. And another thing—why are you weighing your friendship on this shit—oh my, pardon my French,” Mr. Sand said in a strained voice, as it took an effort to speak, especially with emotionally filled words. He reached out to hold her hand and hoped that he would be able to see the day that his two friends would make amends before he would pass. Lilly held Mr. Sand’s hand as he wrestled with his heavy eye lids. She knew she had to say something to Vivian.

  “I can’t go with the both of you not speaking. I just can’t.”

  “Mr. Sand, don’t say that,” Lilly said in a panic as she squeezed his hands, while the doctor on call entered the room.

  “How are you doing, Mr. Sand?” he asked while giving a warm gaze at his patient, nodding to Vivian to greet her and then reaching for the clipboard that hung on the foot of his bed to study it.

  “As fine as I’ll ever be,” Mr. Sand said with a heavy sigh. “I just have some unfinished business to deal with.” Lilly’s face fell to the ground while she played with the strap of her purse.

  “Will you excuse us, for just for a moment?” the doctor asked. Lilly nodded her head reached over to Mr. Sand and gave him a hug.

  “I’ll be back in a few days,” Lilly said and left, while the doctor sat down on the side of Mr. Sand’s bed. He looked deep into his eyes, paused, and gave a gentle smile. His warm presence made Mr. Sand feel at ease while spoke in a soft tone, just above a whisper as he shared what was going on with his bloodwork and how to remain as comfortable as possible. Mr. Sand took in the information as best as he could, but he was obviously distracted. A knock at the door was heard.

  “Surprise!” Geraldine, Lilly’s thirteen-year-old granddaughter announced as Mr. Sand’s face lit up like a birthday cake. “I thought I would pop by and say hello.”

  “Aw, you just missed your grandma!” Mr. Sand said as he stretched his arms wide while Geraldine bent down to hug him.

  “How’s my favorite Sand Man?” Geraldine said as she planted a kiss on his cheek. Mr. Sand had been a part of Lilly’s family since the day Geraldine was born. A frequent guest at their Shabbat table and all of Geraldine’s birthday parties—where he would give her the best presents as he always knew what she liked.

  “I’ll leave you two alone. But I will be back,” the doctor said.

  “Bye Doc!” Geraldine said while shooing him out of the room.

  “Bye, doc? You have such …”

  “Chutzpah?”

  Mr. Sand shook his head, very well knowing that his little friend was becoming more like her grandma by the minute. What will she think of next, he thought? If anything, she better start thinking fast, as time was ticking on his watch.

  “Sand man—it’s the grandmas. There’s trouble.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “It’s this tension. You can feel it every time my grandmother mentions Vivian. Such a yucky feeling,” Geraldine said as she leaned on the bed handle, which placed a seed in Mr. Sand’s mind, but wanted to continue prompting.

  “What are you saying?” he added while Geraldine stood up and placed her hands on her hips, hoping she could shine some light on the situation, as he knew she was wise for her age.

  “What do ladies do to feel better?”

  “Shop,” Mr. Sand said matter-of-factly.

  “Working with ladies who shop for so many years is one tough job. If you can figure that out, you can do anything,” Geraldine said with a smile and a wink. “I’ll see you later,” she said.

  “Hey, where are you going? You call that a visit?” he asked.

  “It’s quality, not quantity!” Geraldine said as she skipped out of the room. Then she came back in to pop her head in the doorway. “Oh, relax … I’m just going to pee. Want anything from the cafeteria?”

  Mr. Sand smiled as he shook his head. As soon as Geraldine left, Mr. Sand reached over to his telephone and phoned Geraldine’s mother Corrine to share what was on his mind. Nothing was going to stop him to get this message to his girls, not even death.

  * * *

  As Lilly walked back to her car in the hospital parking lot, she knew that she had to open that can of worms at some point. But when? When would she be ready? Would she ever? And how?

  Three months later, Mr. Sand passed away.

  Lilly: Shiva Schmoozing

  It was the room that gave her the most comfort and pleasure, in her whole house. Lilly’s living room was so aesthetically pleasing that it warmed her heart with happiness every time she opened the wooden framed glass doors and stepped onto the plush area rug. Art hung on the walls with decorative frames that was skillfully curated. The furniture was chosen from antique stores with an array of trinkets that were collected from travels abroad. But the most significant piece that stood in the far end of the room that Lilly treasured was her mother’s couch. Reupholstered in a chocolate velour fabric that accentuated the wallpaper perfectly.

  Lilly stood in the corner of her favorite hideaway. When they moved in many years ago and the children were teenagers, she warned them with a death wish if they dared to enter. God forbid a can of Coke would spill on the carpet or a baseball would make its way through an oil painting.

  Out of all the rooms in her home, she spent the most time here, reading, writing, and enjoying the latest issue of Vogue, along with a delicious and nerve-calming glass of red wine.

  Of course, before Lilly moved in, just after she got married, she received an offer from Vivian to help her decorate it. To choose the carpet, wallpaper, and some other accessories. She accepted, as they were still on relatively good terms and the tension was not as thick as the steak Mr. Sand ordered that night at the restaurant, more like deli, sliced very thin.

  “That wallpaper! My gosh—those fuchsia peonies are as big as beach balls!” she recalled telling Vivian as they sat together looking through a catalog of wallpaper patterns as thick as two telephone books.

  “Darling … trust me, you won’t regret it. It’s a classic. Besides, the wallpaper will highlight your mother’s stunning couch, as they aren’t made like that anymore—hang on to that masterpiece!”

  “You don’t mind helping me pick out a few things for the house?” Lilly asked after she agreed on the pink peonies and slammed the catalog closed, hoping this project would allow them to talk about … things.

  “To quote the youngsters, I get my kicks out of this stuff! Encouraging you to paste these delicious pink peonies on your walls is pure bliss! Please, please let me do this—it makes me so happy.”

  The conversation was as crystal clear in her mind as if it happened the other day. It always amazed her how much talent Vivian had and how willing she was to help Lilly, but that was as far as it went.

  “Grandma, Vivian is here to see you,” Geraldine said.

  Lilly paused and leaned in toward the front door, where she heard a voice that was as familiar as an old song.

  “Tell her I’m in here. Let her schmooze with whomever is hanging out in the hallway,” Lilly said. She needed time to compose herself. As she placed her hand to her chest, she thought of the last time she saw Vivian, as it was years. Before she could figure that question out, thoughts and questions bounced around in her head. What was she doing here? Why did she come? Why now? Lilly wasn’t ready. No, she was. No, she wasn’t. All this mishigas was making Lilly’s head spin.

  “Wait a minute—wait a minute, Lil!” she said to herself, and lately, she was talking to herself more and more during that time of mourning. Vivian is here to pay her respects because you just lost your God-damn husband, you nitwit! Passing away just months after Mr. Sand. A sudden diagnosis that didn’t cause him to suffer, for long.

  Although Lilly quit years ago, this time was the ideal time. No, the perfect time for a cigarette. What she would give for a deep inhalation of that bad-ass but oh—so delicious carcinogenic stick, dressed in a coat of white armor that gave her the perfect amount of dopamine to calm her right down. She wasn’t surprised that she needed this type of pacification. It was a silly thought. Giggling to herself, she could just see the response to her lighting up.

  “Mother—what the fuck are you doing?” her middle son would ask, who had a habit of planting the F-bomb on occasion. Okay, frequently.

  As she learned from quitting smoking, there was a replacement for the disease-inducing habit to manage her stress, so off to the bodily self-caring she grew accustomed to. No time for any rigorous exercise such as a power walk, but the massaging of temples would suffice. Off went her fingers to her temples as she began to massage them, trying to quiet the noise from the hallway that the visitors from the Shiva gathered.